IN THE STREETS OF MEXICO.
In Mexico, as in all other countries, the average tourist rushes to the
cathedrals and places of historic note, wholly unmindful of the most
intensely interesting feature the country contains--the people.
Street scenes in the City of Mexico form a brilliant and entertaining
panorama, for which no charge is made. Even photographers slight
this wonderful picture. If you ask for Mexican scenes they show you
cathedrals, saints, cities and mountains, but never the wonderful
things that are right under their eyes daily. Likewise, journalists
describe this cathedral, tell you the age of that one, paint you the
beauties of another, but the people, the living, moving masses that
go so far toward making the population of Mexico, are passed by with
scarce a mention.
It is not a clean, inviting crowd, with blue eyes and sunny hair I
would take you among, but a short, heavy-set people, with almost black
skins, topped off with the blackest eyes and masses of raven hair.
Their lives are as dark as their skins and hair, and are invaded by no
hope that through effort their lives may amount to something.
Nine women out of ten in Mexico have babies. When at a very tender age,
so young as five days, the babies are completely hidden in the folds
of the _rebozo_ and strung to the mother's back, in close proximity
to the mammoth baskets of vegetables on her head and suspended on
either side of the human freight. When the babies get older their
heads and feet appear, and soon they give their place to another or
share their quarters, as it is no unusual sight to see a woman carry
three babies at one time in her _rebozo._ They are always good. Their
little coal-black eyes gaze out on what is to be their world, in solemn
wonder. No baby smiles or babyish tears are ever seen on their faces.
At the earliest date they are old, and appear to view life just as it
is to them in all its blackness.
They know no home, they have no school, and before they are able to
talk they are taught to carry bundles on their heads or backs, or pack
a younger member of the family while the mother carries merchandise,
by which she gains a living. Their living is scarcely worth such a
title. They merely exist. Thousands of them are born and raised on the
streets. They have no home and were never in a bed. Going along the
streets of the city late at night, you will find dark groups huddled
in the shadows, which, on investigation, will turn out to be whole
families gone to bed. They never lie down, but sit with their heads on
their knees, and so pass the night.
When they get hungry they seek the warm side of the street and there,
hunkering down, devour what they scraped up during the day, consisting
of refused meats and offal boiled over a handful of charcoal. A fresh
tortilla is the sweetest of sweetbreads. The men appear very kind
and are frequently to be seen with the little ones tied up in their
_serape_.
Groups of these at dinner would furnish rare studies for Rodgers.
Several men and women will be walking along, when suddenly they will
sit down in some sunny spot on the street. The women will bring fish or
a lot of stuff out of a basket or poke, which is to constitute their
coming meal. Meanwhile the men, who also sit flat on the street, will
be looking on and accepting their portion like hungry, but well-bred,
dogs.
This type of life, be it understood, is the lowest in Mexico, and
connects in no way with the upper classes. The Mexicans are certainly
misrepresented, most wrongfully so. They are not lazy, but just the
opposite. From early dawn until late at night they can be seen filling
their different occupations. The women sell papers and lottery tickets.
"See here, child," said a gray-haired lottery woman in Spanish. "Buy a
ticket. A sure chance to get $10,000 for twenty-five cents." Being told
that we had no faith in lotteries, she replied: "Buy one; the Blessed
Virgin will bring you the money."
The laundry women, who, by the way, wash clothes whiter and iron them
smoother even than the Chinese, carry the clothes home unwrapped. That
is, they carry their hands high above their head, from which stream
white skirts, laces, etc., furnishing a most novel and interesting
sight.
"The saddest thing I ever saw," said Mr. Theo. Gestefeld, "among all
the sad things in Mexico, was an incident that happened when I first
arrived here. Noticing a policeman talking to a boy around whom a crowd
of dusky citizens had gathered, I, true to journalistic instinct,
went up to investigate. The boy, I found, belonged to one of the many
families who do odd jobs in day time for a little food, and sleep at
night in some dark corner. Strung to the boy's back was a dying baby.
Its little eyes were half closed in death. The crowd watched, in
breathless fascination, its last slow gasps. The boy had no home to go
to, he knew not where to find his parents at that hour of the day, and
there he stood, while the babe died in its cradle, his _serape._ In
my newspaper career I have witnessed many sad scenes, but I never saw
anything so heartrending as the death of that little innocent."
Tortillas is not only one of the great Mexican dishes but one of the
women's chief industries. In almost any street there can be seen women
on their knees mashing corn between smooth stones, making it into a
batter, and finally shaping it into round, flat cakes. They spit on
their hands to keep the dough from sticking, and bake in a pan of hot
grease, kept boiling by a few lumps of charcoal. Rich and poor buy and
eat them, apparently unmindful of the way they are made. But it is a
bread that Americans must be educated to. Many surprise the Mexicans by
refusing even a taste after they see the bakers.
There are some really beautiful girls among this low class of people.
Hair three quarters the length of the women, and of wonderful
thickness, is common. It is often worn loose, but more frequently in
two long plaits. Wigmakers find no employment here. The men wear long,
heavy bangs.
There is but one thing that poor and rich indulge in with equal delight
and pleasure--that is cigarette smoking. Those tottering with age down
to the creeping babe are continually smoking. No spot in Mexico is
sacred from them; in churches, on the railway cars, on the streets,
in the theaters--everywhere are to be seen men and women--of the
_elite_--smoking.
The Mexicans make unsurpassed servants. Their thievery, which is a
historic complaint, must be confined to those in the suburbs, for those
in houses could not be more honest. There cleanliness is something
overwhelming, when one recalls the tales that have been told of the
filth of the "greasers." Early in the mornings the streets, walks in
the plaza, and pavements are swept as clean as anything can be, and
that with brooms not as good as those children play with in the States.
Put an American domestic and a Mexican servant together, even with
the difference in the working implements, and the American will "get
left" every time. But this cleanliness may be confined somewhat to
such work as sweeping and scrubbing; it does not certainly exist in
the preparation of food. Pulque, which is sucked from the mother plant
into a man's mouth and thence ejected into a water-jar, is brought to
town in pig-skins. The skins are filled, and then tied onto burros, or
sometimes--not frequently--carried in wagons, the filled skin rolling
from side to side. Never less than four filled skins are ever loaded
onto a burro; oftener eight and ten. The burros are never harnessed,
but go along in trains which often number fifty. Mexican politeness
extends even among the lowest classes. In all their dealings they are
as polite as a dancing master. The moment one is addressed off comes
his poor, old, ragged hat, and bare-headed he stands until you leave
him. They are not only polite to other people, but among themselves.
One poor, ragged woman was trying to sell a broken knife and rusty lock
at a pawnbroker's stand. "Will you buy?" she asked, plaintively. "No,
senora, _gracias_" (I thank you), was the polite reply.
The police are not to be excelled. When necessary to clear a hall of an
immense crowd, not a rough word is spoken. It is not: "Get out of this,
now;" "Get out of here," and rough and tumble, push and rush, as it is
in the States among the civilized people. With raised cap and low voice
the officer gently says in Spanish: "Gentlemen, it is not my will, but
it is time to close the door. Ladies, allow me the honor to accompany
you toward the door." In a very few moments the hall is empty, without
noise, without trouble, just with a few polite words, among people who
cannot read, who wear knives in their boots--if they have any--and
carry immense revolvers strung to their belts; people who have been
trained to enjoy the sight of blood, to be bloodthirsty. What a marked
contrast to the educated, cultured inhabitants of the States.
Beneath all this ignorance there is a heart, as sympathetic, in its
way, as that of any educated man. It is no unusual sight to see a
man walk along with a coffin on his head, from which is visible the
remains of some child. In an instant all the men in the gutters, on the
walks, or in the doorways, have their hats off, and remain bare-headed
until the sad procession is far away. The pall-bearer, if such he may
be called, dodges in and out among the carriages, burros and wagons,
which fill the street. The drivers lift their hats, but the silent
bearer--generally the father--moves along unmindful of all. Funeral
cars meet with the same respect.
In passing along where a new building was being erected, attention was
attracted to the body of a laborer who had fallen from the building.
A white cloth covered all of the body except his sandaled feet. "The
Virgin rest his soul;" "Virgin Mother grant him grace," were the
prayers of his kind as the policeman commanded his body to be carried
away. These little scenes prove they are not brutes, that they are a
little better than some intelligent people would have you believe.
The meat express does not, by any means, serve to make the meat, more
palatable. Generally an old mule or horse that has reached its second
childhood serves for the express. A long, iron rod, from which hooks
project, is fastened on the back of the beast by means of straps. The
meat is hung on these hooks, where it is exposed to the mud and dirt
of the streets as well as the hair of the animal. Men with two large
baskets, one in front, one behind, filled with the refuse of meat,
follow near by. If they wear trousers they have them rolled up high so
the blood from the dripping meat will not soil them, but run down their
bare legs and be absorbed in the sand. It is asserted that the poor do
not allow this mixture in the basket to go to waste, but are as glad to
get it as we are to get sirloin steak.
Men with cages of fowls, baskets of eggs and bushels of roots and
charcoal, come from the mountain in droves of from twenty-five to
fifty, carrying packs which average three hundred pounds.
One form of politeness here is, that when complimenting or observing
anything that belongs to a native, they will reply: "It is yours." That
it means nothing but politeness some are slow to learn. "My house is
yours; you have but to command me," said the hotel-keeper on the day
of our arrival; but he made no move to vacate. A "greeny" from the
States who was working for the Mexican Central tested some beer that
was on its way to the city. "That is good beer," he remarked to the
express man. "_Si, senor!_ It is yours," was the reply. Mr. Green was
elated, and trudged off home with the keg, much to the consternation
and distress of the poor express man, who was compelled to pay out of
his own purse for his politeness.
"You have very handsome coffins," was remarked to a man who, probably
judging from our looks since we had struck Mexican diet, thought he
had found a customer, and had insisted on showing every coffin in the
house, even to the handles, plates, and linings. "_Si, senorita,_ they
are yours." Thinking they would be an unwelcome elephant on our hands
we replied with thanks, and made our exit as quickly as possible. A
young Spanish gentleman who, doubtless, was employed by the express
company, said, after a few moments' conversation, "The express company
and myself are yours, _senorita."_ We confess to the stupidity of not
accepting the bonanza, with him included.
A peep into doorways shows the people at all manner of occupations.
Men always use the machines. Women and men put chairs together and
weave bottoms in them. They also make shoes, the finest and most
artistic shoe in the world, and the cobblers can make a good shoe out
of one that is so badly worn as to be useless to our grandmothers as a
rod of correction.
The water-carrier, _aguador,_ is one of the most common objects on
the street. They suspend water-jars from their heads, one in front,
one back. Around their bodies are leather aprons to protect them from
the water, which they get at big fountains and basins distributed
throughout the city.
As a people they do not seem malicious, quarrelsome, unkind or
evil-disposed. Drunkenness does not seem to be frequent, and the men,
in their uncouth way, are more thoughtful of the women than many who
belong to a higher class. The women, like other women, sometimes cry,
doubtless for very good cause, and then the men stop to console them,
patting them on the head, smoothing back their hair, gently wrapping
them tighter in their _rebozo_. Late one night, when the weather was
so cold, a young fellow sat on the curbstone and kept his arm around
a pretty young girl. He had taken off his ragged _serape_ and folded
it around her shoulders, and as the tears ran down her face and she
complained of the cold, he tried to comfort her, and that without a
complaint of his own condition, being clad only in muslin trowsers and
waist, which hung in shreds from his body.
Thus we leave the largest part of the population of Mexico. Their
condition is most touching. Homeless, poor, uncared for, untaught,
they live and they die. They are worse off by thousands of times than
were the slaves of the United States. Their lives are hopeless, and
they know it. That they are capable of learning is proven by their
work, and by their intelligence in other matters. They have a desire to
gain book knowledge, or at least so says a servant who was taken from
the streets, who now spends every nickel and every leisure moment in
trying to learn wisdom from books.